The Selection
by ailes du neige
Summary: AU. 35 Girls. 1 Crown. The competition of a lifetime. The Selection is a chance to escape hardships set from birth, and to enter a world of illusions. But for Cammie Morgan, entering the Selection means leaving her secret romance and fighting for a crown that she doesn't want. But when she meets Prince Zachary, she starts to reconsider what she truly wants. / multi-chap —in editing
1. prologue

**a/n:** This is, for sure, partly based of the Selection, The Elite, its sequel, and the Prince, a novella, all written by Kierra Cass, but I made changes to it, like there's no Grandfather and Grandmother, and the plots are in different chapters, and there will be some twists later, depending on polls and reviews. Well, hope you like it! The casts/numbers have been changed into colors, which will be given a larger explanation later in the story, but have references early on, as well.

**disclaimer: **I own nothing. Anything that you recognize —_probably _not mine, m'kay?

The Selection  
ZachCammie / MaceyPreston

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"_when adults say, "teenagers think they are invincible" with that sly, stupid smile on their faces, they don't know how right they are. we need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. we think that we are invincible because we are. we cannot be born, and we cannot die. like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. they forget that when they get old. they get scared of losing and failing. but that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail."_

— **looking for alaska** ; john green

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When the Morgan's finally received the letter in the post, their mother was ecstatic.

Of course, she would be. In a town such as that, the typical mother would have previously envisioned for her only daughter, from the moment of her birth, to win _the_ competition of a lifetime; nevertheless, the odds were not in my favor. From a young age, Mrs. Morgan had trained her only daughter, Cameron Morgan to be the perfect princess, with the proper table etiquette manners —ha, not likely— to being able to be fluent in several different languages —she still mixed up her _revenir__s _and _sourirs._

The mother had done everything the country had asked for her, training her daughter in all the aspects of a proper, young lady, never completely focusing on the point that her daughter was the only problem in the process, not a lack of hours spent practicing the violin, which she had taped to Cameron's hand at the age of three years and two months, the exact time when violins were first sold to the lower castes of Gallagher. She didn't want to be royalty —even entering the competition would mean that Cammie's life would be officially over, not even in the melodramatic sense but quite literally. Her parents wouldn't get enough of it, boasting until they received dry throats and a warning to be locked up in the town's asylum if she ever even made it, which was unlikely as it was.

The Selection, at least in her opinion and to her knowledge, was a competition held in the center of Gallagher, its it very fine Palace, a fact that she could not deny, where thirty-five girls from across the nation were brought to compete for the place as the Prince's wife and the Queen, both glorious in their own ways. The competition mainly consisted of prissy girls with prissier mothers, who had actually listened to their parents during their childhood, Careers in a sense, overpowering all of the other candidates who immediately seemed weak and resistible in comparison.

Being a gold, the highest caste reserved for royalty living in the Palace, was not of the utmost importance to Cammie, who instead wished to live her life without the constant threats of rebellions and riots wreaking havoc upon western parts of the dangerous terrain.

"—I don't want to apply, Mother," Cammie admitted; she didn't aspire to. It was that simple, but her mother kept on making a fuss about the horrible decisions that her only daughter was about to make. Being a blue had its own difficulties, including the probability of starving to death, and the hard work could sometimes be exhausting, but there were better things in life than having everybody serve you, plainly being a trophy wife. Her family was back home; she couldn't imagine leaving them, if the chance came flying past (though, she reminded herself, it was _one in a billionth chance_). "I'm not going to even win, this thing."

Her mother held up a firm hand. "There's no way around this, Cameron, darling. You're going to win, whether you like it or not," her mother instructed, her stern gaze moving towards the grandfather clock, upon which was stored the daily mail. Cammie's words of refusal were stopped upon gazing at the envelope —it was a lovely thing, trimmed with gold, not even in the faux kind, the words sewn on delicately by the head seamstress of the nation. Cammie could barely sew a pin cushion without stabbing herself in the eye, and harming at least fourteen people around her; even when things almost went right, she had forgotten to backstitch.

"No, I'm not going to do it," she refused, slouching against the back of the chair. Though the Morgan family were no more than mere servants, they were able to afford chairs, folding ones that collapsed easily with heavy weight applied, through longer hours in the heat.

"Shoulders up, Cameron! Stop slouching," her mother said, determination radiating from her beautiful face. Cammie's mother lived the life of a below the average servant, yet she still managed to hold her head high, with poise and grace that one could only be born with; on the other hand, Cammie, unfortunately, did not inherit that queenly trait. "Queens - or even princesses, do not slouch. Look me in the eye," she commanded.

Though she wished to refuse what she had seen, Cammie's eyes could not have been fooled upon gazing into her mother's eye; what was there was nothing other than hope, which after all, breeds eternal misery.

She hadn't seen hope in her mother's face, ever. Though, the bitter fact was to be expected as when you're a blue with many children, and a husband who's out of work, and have to make money by yourself along with providing food and care for your children, you don't exactly have the most hope in the world. Entering the Selection was the chance to change their lives forever. It would bring untold fame and fortune, and the chance to be a Gold, where unlimited money would be produced, and her parents wouldn't have to struggle any longer.

The only downside —according to Cammie, at least— was being the _ohsolucky _wife of Crown Prince Zachary, the older and more detestable of the royal family's two children. The concept befuddled her, in the first place. Arranged marriages were common, but love marriages were even more common, especially in the lower colors. The majority of the motivation for even entering the Selection in the first place was to marry the most handsome and richest bachelor in all of Gallagher; watching this on television, Cammie had wondered if they had just said this because he was the most famous, or because they actually met every single bachelor throughout the kingdom.

It is not that Cammie thinks he is not handsome, because to say that would of course be a lie, but another heart called. Her mother could not know about Josh, however, but maybe if she did, she would stop pressing the issue.

"But, mother!" Cammie began, her light hazel eyes searching for any sign of laughter in her mother's steely gaze_. Please, just please let it be a joke_—"I can't go! Everything's been fine in this small town; I just got a job—and if I'm gone for this competition, then Eva will take over everything, for sure! She's been out to ruin my life since kindergarten—"

"Cameron, do you know how much this competition could help us? We could finally live comfortably. Our family wouldn't have to struggle, day in and day out. Your father and I could rest, have the relaxation that we've been missing out at. Just by being one of the Chosen, we could be blues no longer; but pinks, and even whites. We could be happy. If you win, we could be a gold!" The jubilant tone in her voice was unmistakable.

"That's assuming I win," she sighs, "—which will under any circumstance will not happen."

"Oh, blasphemy! Why would you even say something like that?" Her mother, said rolling her eyes to the high heavens, as if her daughter was the one who was half-isane; nobody who knew her could blame her, however.

Like every typical mother, Mrs. Morgan thought the best of Cameron, having the firm belief that her daughter had the looks, skills, and talents to win the deranged competition, or to even qualify. However, Cammie was the best judge of herself, clearly being able to see her own version of the obvious.

However, Cammie believes that if she is able to produce enough money this year, which is unlikely since customers have been hard to come by around this time of year, that she should purchase her mother a book of Winston Churchill quotes; that way, she might finally understand that she should not be like a typical mother, and therefore be blind to her daughter's faults, or Cammie will suit herself with an overly kind mother. She had inherited her mother's blonde hair, but hers had a permanent shine, and Cammie's was in a constant frizzy mess, piled high above her head into a messy bun or typically kept down. Everything about her was average, from the obviously underweight figure that became lanky over the years, to her light hazel eyes from parents with baby blues and forest greens.

Looking up at the clock above the mantelpiece of the Morgans' small fireplace, Cammie noticed that it was almost time to sleep that night, and sighed with a joyous smile settling in on her face. The sooner that she was able to escape out of this mess, which would no doubt, be continued the next day and every day after that, the sooner she could leave to her room, and see _him._

Cammie smiled, off in her own little daydream away from harsh reality. Her mother must have noticed, and misinterpreted her smiles, speaking quite wrongly. "Are you thinking of the highly attractive Prince? Imagine Cameron, if you enter the competition, you could have a chance to marry him."

_Yuck, _she thinks to herself, frowning in distaste. "No thanks, mother. That's most definitely not my motivation."

"Is there any motivation you do have?" she begs.

"No," Cammie sighed.

Cammie was aware of what was going to happen next, noticing her mother's facial features. Having lived with her mother for so many years, she was able to distinguish and notify herself of when her mother was about to take out all her feelings and emotions out on the nearest source via a lecture. She did her best to look interested, and tried to drag her attention away from the clock. "How about saving your family from poverty and the hardships of daily life? Is _that_ motivation?"

However, it always seemed to work —Cammie winced a little. Of course, she wanted, more than anything, to help her starving family rise out of the pits of starvation and poverty; the Morgans were blues in the caste system, ranging from gold, the royal family, to black, those illiterate slaves who lived on the streets. Each caste system had its own range of jobs the people within it were assigned to do; blues were the artists, whether musical or painters or dancers. Mrs. Morgan is a singer, and Cammie accompanies her with the piano or the flute; Mr. Morgan was a painter, but died over a year ago.

"Just say you'll think about it," Cammie's mother said lightly, clenching her fists, anger seeping through the polite tones.

Cammie thinks about it for a moment, "Fine," she says curtly, glaring back at her mother. She turned away, and stormed away to her room in faux-defiance; though, it wasn't really fair that this whole responsibility was being laid on top of her.

She sighs, again, making a constant habit of it, running her agile fingers through her hair. She wasn't ignorant enough to believe that her mother was trying to sabotage her life —in fact, it was probably quite the _opposite; _nevertheless, sabotage would be much easier to defy. She lies in her bed, her thoughts all over the place until the twelve rings of the grandfather clock downstairs rung; she slips out of her plain day clothes into a white, lace dress and listens through the walls, hearing the soft sounds of her mother sleeping. Then, as silently as Cammie could, she crawls out of the window and lands on the soft ground outside, tumbling into the grass and creating several mud stains, that could easily be scrubbed and washed the following day, her lungs feeling with the scent of fresh air and freedom.

Nevertheless, though freedom was thought to be for the common people, people like Cammie could rarely have it. She looks around, making sure that nobody else was watching, including the security cameras implanted on nearly every street by the Town Mayor, an elected official who would be a Gold; seeing that nobody else was around to watch her break curfew, Cammie sneaks into the forest, towards a treehouse her father had made for her when she had been younger, when there was time to waste and money to spend on for reckless ventures. She slowly crawls up the rickety latter, her heart racing with each step.

When she reaches the top, she pulls herself into the small top, ducking so that her head wouldn't hit the ceiling. A candle had already been lit in the corner, flashing light and reflections across the smaller wooden box; Cammie hears a shift to her right and looks over, a smile breaking onto her face.. "Hey there, beautiful."

"Josh," she breathes; she had participated in some classes of English when she had been younger, for about four to five years, along with the rest of her siblings in the one-classroom school, but what use was it now, when she was speechless?

Nevertheless, this was where Cammie belonged.


	2. i

**Thank you so much! I've never gotten thirteen reviews on only one chapter before, so this is really amazing. Thank you all so much, viewers and reviewers and followers and favorite-rs!**

**Shoutouts to reviewers:**

**gossip girl xoxo: Thank you so much for being my first reviewer (both guest and having an account)!**

**cammieXzachxx: Do you know when the novella for the Prince is coming out? Glad you liked the first chapter!**

**Gg: You should read the book the selection. I think it's on onread or google books; or you could check it out from the library. Kierra Cass's writing style is absolutely breathtaking.**

** : I'll try to include Macey, Bex, and Liz, but is it okay if Macey is a bit of a snob at first?**

**AnnaLyse: Thanks so much!**

**0Stardust0: Thank you! I'm glad you liked the first chapter.**

**laugh love life: Also, should this be more canon or AU?**

**xxJaneyxx: Do you know when the Elite is coming out? I meant the novella. I won't make them the enemies, and since I'm writing a different version, Macey might be rude at first, and then really friendly.**

**IBeGoFyOu: I won't. Thanks!**

**Shimmery-Diamond: Thank you! Is canon or AU better?**

**Moonlight Blizzard: It's an amazing series; I'm sure you'll like it. Thanks so much for reviewing!  
**

**Angel4eva-15: Thank you so much! Are the color caste system rankings too different?**

**Uknowiloveu: You should read the Selection series (it's ah-mazing!) Thanks for reviewing! Do you think that canon, or AU is better?**

******Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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_Previously..._

_"Hey there, beautiful."_

_"Josh," I breathed. This is where I really belonged._

"Please, don't call me beautiful. First Mom, then Dad, then Eva, now you. There's too much pressure on that word," I admitted. By the way that Josh was looking at me, I could tell that my case wasn't working, well.

"I can't help myself, Cammie. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." Our faces were close together, under the moonlight, the reflection of the lamp post (which had automatically turned back on), cast across the gentle ripples of the water, the level ebbing for the evening cleaning. Perhaps that's why I loved Josh so much. Because he made me feel this way, this feeling that was real; I lived for the realness of our relationship. Nothing was real in Gallathorne. Nothing that I had ever seen, besides the struggles and hardships and malnutrition; those were plain and evident and real for anybody and everybody to see. Even the "rivers" and the "mountains" were faux. At least, that was how it was where I lived. Josh brought his lips closer to mine, and that was all it took. There wasn't any Selection that my mother would sign me up for regardless of my constant refusal, since I didn't even understand her reasoning behind the never-ending persistence. There wasn't any stupid picture of Prince Zachary Goode posted up on the mantle of the fireplace, right beneath the clock, for me to "fall in love with him with a single glance". There wasn't any pressure coming from anybody. There wasn't anything fake, there wasn't anything wrong, and everything was good. I was safe. I was sound. I was loved.

Love.(_Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage..._).

I have strength, and courage, and the combination of them could amount to greatness; I could stand up to my mother, though there would be no purpose in that, but I could still get out of the Selection. My worry was that- even though the chances were limited- that I would get selected, and have to leave my family, **and** Josh. My family didn't know about Josh; nobody but my younger sister Eva did, because, being the "gossip queen" she is, had to get her sticky little hands (full of mud and water) onto every single aspect of my unrealistic relationship. Even she yearns for the details of something that she can't possibly imagine. Our parents don't love each other; it was an arranged marriage. Love marriages don't exist anymore; not if a young lady wishes to climb up the ranking ladder. Josh and I pull back from the kiss, and I blush, glad that it's dark outside, so that Josh won't see the blush on my cheeks, that might be the same shade as my bright red shoes.

Josh suddenly walked precariously towards the edge of the tree house and threw a stone into the "river", watching the sound of the miniscule rock make an echo, and an imprint onto the water-free river. I was surprised by his actions. I had fell in love with Josh because of his sweet and kind nature. This? This wasn't sweet. This wasn't kind. And this definitely wasn't Josh.

"Josh, what's wrong?" I asked, carefully approaching him, and holding him by the shoulder gently.

"Sorry. I'm not in a good mood today." He sighed. "The post."

I immediately got what he was talking about- every family, even his family (though they were greens -I wasn't prejudiced) received the letters. Every single eligible girl between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one in the kingdom of Gallathorne who were literate, received the letter, and the chance to become the Queen, the impossible conquest, now made possible. It was by chance that the prince was merely three months older than I; the majority of twenty-two year and fifteen year olds were sighing, horrified by the fact that they couldn't ever be the Queen, as Prince Zachary was an only child. "What's wrong with the letter? Aren't you excited for Mia and Layla?" The twins had just turned sixteen. I had forgotten about them, until now. I had forgotten that I wasn't the only girl eligible in the town, and that thousands of girls would line up in the square two days from now, eager and apprehensive about their fate.

Josh sighed again, sadly and deeply. "Their hopes are going to be crashed." I could tell by the melancholy and depressed expression on his face that the twins had been the exact opposite of me when they had received their corresponding letters in the mail. They must have been overjoyed, screaming and running around their small appartment building for hours, immediately preparing and learning how to walk with correct posture, carrying books on their head. Mia and Layla must have been busy sewing their own dresses for the pictures in the Forum two days from now, eagerly picking up techniques from around town, and from their mother. They must have been eager, waiting to look the best, and be the best. I wish I was like them, spirited and free. They didn't have to work, they were sixes, but still, their family, especially Josh, wished for his little sisters to be free of the burdens of the life of the sixes until Mia and Layla grew up. Mia would be fine with work, but I worried for the spirited, carefree Layla more. I looked at Josh for a moment; Layla was the very image of her older brother.

No caste excluded, I was lucky. Josh, by far, was the most attractive boy my age in the town. With his wavy brown hair, blue eyes, and this gorgeous smile that always seemed to be so unlike the secrets he burdened. His large hands were helpful in the mines and all the other places in town where he scrambled to find work, and money, for his family. I noticed in the dim light that there were tiny bags under his eyes; no doubt he'd been working late all week. His black T-shirt was worn to threads in several places, just like the shabby pair of jeans he wore almost every day.

If only I could sit and patch them up for him. That was my great ambition. Not to be Gallathorne's Queen. To be Josh's.

It hurt me to be away from him. Some days I went crazy wondering what he was doing. And when I couldn't handle it, I practiced music. I really had Josh to thank for me being the musician that I was. He drove me to distraction.

And that was bad.

Bad. _(Bad things do happen; how I respond to them defines my character and the quality of my life. I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness, immobilized by the gravity of my loss, or I can choose to rise from the pain and treasure the most precious gift I have - life itself...)  
_

Josh was green. Green's were servants and only a step up from grey's in that they were better educated and trained for indoor work. Josh was smarter than anyone knew and devastatingly handsome, but it was atypical for a woman to marry down. Along with the fact that my mother would never allow it. A man from a lower caste could ask for your hand, but it was rare to get a yes. And when anyone married into a different caste, they had to fill out paperwork and wait for something like ninety days before any of the other legal things you needed could be done.

I'd heard more than one person say it was to give people a chance to change their minds. So us being this personal and out well past Gallthorne's curfew … we could both get in serious trouble. Not to mention my family's dissaproval. They admired Josh's hardworking skills and his endless perseverance, but they would never admire him enough to let him have a relationship with him. That was why I had to keep it secret that I loved him.

But I loved Josh, and he loved me. Isn't that all that matters?

As he sat there stroking my hair, I couldn't imagine entering the Selection. I could only imagine living here, with Josh, for forever. Forever and always.

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I sighed, inhaling a deep breath of the fresh air.

_"Can you smell it? The freedom?" Josh told me. _

I walked back home that night, feeling happier than I ever had in a long time. There was the feeling, the feeling of being free, of having no weight on my shoulders, the burden of being a blue that I carried upon my shoulders, that I always would. The lamp post flickered on and off, and for a moment, I stood still in the dark, a police car zooming by on the road, whizzing right past me, though not seeing my quick movement into hiding in the bushes. I had been having this secret for the past two years, and had practice my various escape routes, knowing all the secret passageways of my house, to get in and out, without suspicion from anybody else but Eva.

I crawled back into my bed, waiting as slumber overtook me once more, not seeing the emerald green eyes above me.

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**Well, hope you liked it! Whoever reviews get a preview of the next chapter; the preview is a thousand words.**

**Review?**

**~Ailes Du Neige~**


	3. ii

**Thank you so much to all the reviewers, followers, and favorite-ers! All of you guys really made my day when I woke up in the morning to see seventeen new reviews! Therefore, I knew I had to update another chapter as soon as possible. **

**Shout-outs****:**

**Zammie88: Thanks for being my first reviewer! This is the chapter where she meets Zach, and since it's different from the book, she's going to meet Zach before she's accepted, if she's accepted, into The Palace.**

**Gg: Exactly! Cammie's mom thinks that if her daughter sees the marvelous prince's face more and more, she'll fall in love with him, and love is the most powerful motivator of all. Thanks for reviewing!**

**mia.b.003: Thanks for reviewing! Hope you like this chapter!**

**music-is-mai-lfe: Um, I think that Josh has blue eyes, but I'm not too sure. I was meaning Zach. So basically, even though I don't include this part but mention hints near the end of this chapter, Zach was stalking her last night for some random reason. It might be confusing, but it will get more easy to understand as the story progresses.**

**Hurting with a smile: It's going to have a completely different plot. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Mrs. DarcyGoodeRedmyane: Green eyes actually is Zach; I know, it's really confusing. Thanks for reviewing!  
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**chunsaAthena-chan: Hope you liked the preview and this chapter! Thank you so much for reviewing both chapters!  
**

**Bookworm67: Hope you like this chapter too! This chapter takes place in the evening, at around dinnertime.**

**laugh love life: Okay, sure! So AU is okay instead of canon?**

**Cassia Goode: I'm glad that you like it! Is the AU-ness of this chapter okay?**

**Moonlight Blizzard: Okay, thanks! Josh will be one of the main characters, but he won't be later in the story.**

**Angel4eva-15: Hope you liked the preview! Thanks so much for reviewing!  
**

**Wouldnt-wanna-be-anyone-but-me: That's great! The Selection is an amazing series; have you read it?**

**cammieXzachxx: Lol, thanks so much for the feedback!**

**Uknowiloveu: Yep, that was Zach, even though he shouldn't really be there and it's all confusing and all that. **

**KittyKatMeow: Thank you so much for all of your kind words! It was really nice of you to say that! Hope you like this chapter!**

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**I'm really sorry if I left out anybody, and if I left you out, could you please PM me or leave a review? I'm really sorry about that, again! Hope you like this chapter, to all readers! In this chapter, there's going to be little references to the Gallagher Girls Series, but it will be different than the Selection chapter with the dinner. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

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I hid in my room, the only place to avoid the chattering of our full house, trying to come up with an argument that would sway her. So far, I had a solid collection of my honest opinions… I didn't think there was a single one she would listen to. Of course, I was talking about my mother, who was standing right outside my door (which was thankfully locked), with the letter in her hand. I thought that she was trying to open the door, by removing the hinges, in all of her motherly fury and anger and love, which is always a much more powerful motivator, and drag me to the Forum, decked out in the fanciest dress we bought/made.

I couldn't avoid her much longer. It was approaching dinnertime, and as the oldest child left in the house, cooking duties fell on me. I puled myself out of bed and walked into the snake pit. I let out a sigh of relief when I cautiously opened the door, peeking through the eye hole when my mother wasn't standing outside with the letter and an inky pen, ready for me to sign my approval, or forge my signature for me. I had to go downstairs soon; I could already smell vegetables burning from upstairs. To be fair, my mother had many talents and skills: acting, was among the better of them -for a town musical, she has once played the Queen of France when she was younger. And, cooking was not. She had the amazing talent to burn anything microwaveable especially popcorn -that delicious salty treat that each family gets once a decade-, last year; mother burnt the popcorn, but we still ate it, dipping it into a pot of sour tomato sauce, which was another of her "unique" creations.

Walking down the stairs, slowly, as to not alert my mother that I was coming- as she would come, armed with the form and a pen, I carefully peeked into the kitchen, wincing at the steam rising from the gas stove. We didn't have enough money to afford an electric stove, but the gas stove was like family to us- we had gone through so much with it, and Eva had saved it from a fire at our old house, just because her favorite Chinese dumplings were on the stove; she was five at the time, and didn't understand the dangers of fire. I got a glare from Mom but no words, as she went back to her daily routine.

"The kitchen's yours," she murmured, brushing a hand through my hair and fake "snippet-ting" it with imaginary scissors, as if she was already planning my trimmed hairstyle for the event tomorrow, that I would no doubt be forced into going to. The scary part was that I didn't know why I had so much aversion towards the Selection. All the other girls throughout Gallathorne were no doubt enthralled, being poised and having endless euphoria at the same time. So, why couldn't I be like that? Why I couldn't I be normal? It was illogical, and just like my mother, but unlike her, I feared, not hoped, that I would be one of the "lucky" thirty five girls chosen to go to the Palace. I knew, without a doubt, that I wouldn't win, but leaving home, and Josh -who could easily find another girl-, and returning with only loss would do no good to my family's already low blue status. I might make some social gaffe at the Palace, and then we would be greens. I would never hear the end of it from Mother.

We did a silent dance through the kitchen and dining room as we prepared the vegetable rice and set the table for five. If I glanced up from a task, she'd fix me with a fierce look as if she could shame me into wanting the same things she did. She tried that every so often. Like if I didn't want to take on a particular job because I knew the family hosting us was unnecessarily rude. Or if she wanted me to do a massive cleaning when we couldn't afford to have a green come and help. Some of the kinder greens were willing to do something called volunteering, but this was unlikely in the time period where every family blue or higher was hiring servants to help their daughters, if eligible, be ready for the Selection, making sure that their prized daughter would be the next Queen of Gallathorne. Ha. As if.

Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn't. And this was one area where I was unswayable. She couldn't stand it when I was stubborn. But I got that from her, so she shouldn't have been surprised. This wasn't just about me, though. Mother had been tense lately. The summer was ending, and soon we'd be faced with cold. And worry. Mother set down the pitcher of steaming hot water, a luxury for us, in the center of the table with an angry thud, still not managing to spill a single precious drop onto the crude wooden table. My mouth watered at the thought of water that wasn't so cold, that it could be used for showering. But I would have to wait; it would be such a waste to have my glass now and then have to consume a cold drink with my meal.

"Would it kill you to fill out the form?" she said, no longer able to contain herself. "The Selection could be a wonderful opportunity for you, for all of us." I knew it wouldn't be long before she asked the question, but I thought that she would wait until Father came home. By Father, I was of course referring to Alexander, my mother's new husband. It wasn't right for her to remarry so soon after my father's death, but she wasn't the type of soul that could be a grieving widow for the rest of her life. She used to be different, but when Dunston, my older brother, died of lack of money for an appendix surgery, she'd never been the same, always wanting to make more money and marry upwards. That was probably why she had married Alexander Percival, a pink.

I sighed aloud, thinking that filing out that form might actually be something close to death. (She didn't know that it would lead to her death). It was no secret that there were enemies to the kingdom, the "baddies" of every fairytale, as every fairy tale needs a good old fashioned villain.

Villain. (_I like not fair terms and a villain's mind...)_

The colonies that hated our relatively new country, which had been previously separated into Gallagher and Blackthorne, merging together to serve as a foundation of education and resources, no matter the caste. Or so outsiders thought. Of course the caste matters; it matters if one wants to buy the most expensive silk gown that was just released six minutes ago, or have private flute lessons, or even have a scrap of food on one's plate.

But beyond the potential danger, I felt like it would hurt my heart to even consider the Selection. I would leave Josh, and DeeDee, an overexcited, always pink-wearing girl was more than eager to "take him off my hands". I knew that, because unlike me, she was a green, and she had told me that specifically that she wouldn't mind having Josh as a boyfriend, when he was in the room. I mean, how rude? But still, I couldn't help smiling as I thought about all the reasons I had to stay exactly where I was.

"These last few years have been very hard on your father," she hissed. "If you have any compassion at all, you might think of him."

Father. Yeah. I really did want to help Father. I didn't care too much about him, as he was a Pink, but he only brought his own status lower, not our statuses higher, due to some kind of code that was in the Lawbook. Nobody disboyed the Lawbook unless they wanted to be killed in the most excruciating manner ever. Nobody knew what the manner was, but the people who were taken by the Government were never seen again. I didn't want Father to be taken, because then Mother would find a new husband, and perhaps he would be even worse than Alexander. Mother had a point, though. I had to help Alexander. And Eva and Ryan. And, I supposed, even my mother. When she talked about it that way, there was nothing to smile about. Things had been strained around here for far too long. I wondered if Father would see this as a way back to normal, if any amount of money could make things better. As a mere doctor, he didn't make too much money, especially since as a pink, he couldn't be a specialist, which was where the real money was at; Alexander also did more volunteering with no pay than work with slight pay, which was never good for our family.

It wasn't that our situation was so precarious that we were living in fear of survival or anything. We weren't destitute. But I guess we weren't that far off either. Our caste was just three away from the bottom. We were artists. And artists and classical musicians were only three steps up from dirt. Literally. Our money was stretched as tight as a high wire, and our income was highly dependent on the changing seasons.

So, at least four times a year, the whole family would be fully employed. Father would help the needy and the sick, and Eva would make her paintings, and patrons would purchase them as gifts, if the time was right, along with the price. Mother and I would perform at parties and sometimes even the galas of the Pinks, which weren't that much fancier than the parties of the Blues—me with the vocals, and her playing the flute—not turning down a single job if we could manage it. When I was younger, performing in front of an audience terrified me. But now I just tried to equate front of an audience terrified me. But now I just tried to equate myself to background music. That's what we were in the eyes of our employers: meant to be heard and not seen.

Ryan hadn't found his talent, as he was only five. He still had a little time.

Soon the leaves would change, and our tiny world would be unsteady again. Five mouths but only four workers. No guarantees of employment until Christmastime.

When I thought of it that way, the Selection seemed like a rope, something sure I could grab onto. That stupid letter could lift me out of the darkness, and I could pull my family along with me.

I looked over at my mother. Her hair was blond, like mine, but full of brilliant white streaks, showing wiseness, which always came with age -she never let me forget that. Those had appeared suddenly and in abundance about two years ago. Lines creased the corners of her eyes, though she was still pretty young, and I could see as she moved around the kitchen that she was hunched over as if an invisible weight rested on her shoulders. I knew she had a lot to carry. And I knew that was why she had taken to being particularly manipulative with me. We fought enough without the extra strain, but as the empty fall quietly approached, she became much more irritable. I knew she thought I was being unreasonable now, to not even want to fill out a silly little form, and I wouldn't even win, so what was the point?

But there were things—important things—in this world that I loved. And that piece of paper seemed like a brick wall keeping me away from what I wanted. Maybe what I wanted was stupid. Maybe it wasn't even something I could have. But still, it was mine. I didn't think I could sacrifice my dreams, no matter how much my family meant to me. Besides, I had given them so much already.

But, now, with letter, the small amount of money that I made on an on and off basis didn't even matter anymore. Winning the selection, or at least being chosen as one of the thirty five to go the Palace would make enough money that my family could live off for a year- we could stretch money quite finely, when needed. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it, Ma," I blurted out suddenly, not thinking about my words, and realizing too late that I had called my mother Ma, something that I had only done when I was much, much younger. I had a feeling that it was Josh, and my mother didn't even know about my relationship, and if he didn't hide his feelings for me, or wished to speak to me privately -which would be quite suspicious- I didn't know what I would do. I rushed to the door, wiping my hands first on a towel and then adjusting my home clothes in the mirror.

"Cameron, opening the door isn't a fashion show. If you wish to have a fashion show, fill out this form!" Of course. Everything had to relate to The Selection.

"Yes, Mother," I monotonously replied. I walked out of the bathroom, shoulders back and a fake smile on my face as I opened the door. My fake smile suddenly dropped. This was the same face from my stalker the night before, the one that I had purposely ignored in order for him to go away. When I got a closer look at his face, and his whole outfit, and even the entourage, it was enough to realize who it was.

"Mother? You might need to make a better dinner."

"And why's that so if you don't even listen to me about The Selection?" I hit myself on the forehead mentally; it seemed like I was one of those girls, now. I wondered why I was even trying to impress the cocky, arrogant, and narcissistic prince in the first place.

"We'll be serving royalty tonight."

* * *

**Well, hope you liked it! Whoever reviews get a preview of the next chapter; the preview is a thousand words.**

**Review?**

**~Ailes Du Neige~**


	4. iii

_Disclaimed: I own nothing._

* * *

"And what makes you think that I'll eat dinner at your thing that you call house?" He winced in disgust at the dirt and the cobwebs above his head, screeching like a little girl when he saw the spider. Rolling my eyes, she picked up the spider from the floor gently and set it outside of the door, hoping that the little white house creature could make its way to freedom.

"Because I already told my mother, that, therefore it would be rude not to."

"Should I care about being rude?"

"Come in, your royal highness." Cameron gritted her teeth together in annoyance, but all the same motioned for the arrogant boy to come forward. "Dinner shall be served shortly."

* * *

"So, how fare this lovely evening?"

"Why are you even here?" She had met the boy with the smirking face and the emerald eyes before, but she didn't see why she ever had to see his repulsive face again; after all, he was the one that her parents had originally set her up to marry. It was a complicated lifestyle, the one that she lived, and the arrival of her ex-fiance made the story even more convoluted.

"I had to come personally to select you. I don't know why you're so special, but apparently Mother made it mandatory." They were both sitting on chairs, but as she slouched in the most un-lady-like manner she ever knew, he sat way too rigidly in the chair, looking a little too uptight. She presumed that other girls might have thought that he was handsome, but he was more stiff than she had ever seen in her life. His hair was of a chocolate-brown color, and his eyes were of comparison to emeralds. His clean hair was too perfect, his suit too crisp, looking more like a person posing for a painting of themselves rather than a person.

She didn't understand what was going, or even why the holy prince himself was visiting a small town like hers. "I don't understand. I didn't even sign up for the Selection." she voiced her opinions defiantly.

"You're coming with me to the palace."

Everything went black.

* * *

Her eyes fluttered open delicately, as she wiped the tears falling from her eyes, and took in the sight before her. She didn't have a very good view coming up to the palace, but she noticed the walls. They were a pale yellow stucco and very, very high. Guards were placed on top at either side of the wide gate that swung open as they approached. Inside, they were greeted with a long gravel drive that circled a fountain and led to the front doors, where officials waited to welcome them. Exiting the car was a tedious matter, as she felt as though her body had been stuck to the warmth of the heated seats.

A wave of panic suddenly overtook her as she realized that she had been brought to the palace of Gallagher, the place where her mother had so longed for her daughter to go yet she could never make it...did this mean that she had been chosen in the Selection? Personally, by the Queen of Gallagher? It all didn't make much sense to her eyes or ears, yet she took it in stride that she was chosen over all the other girls of Carolina, let she couldn't let her aplomb rise too high. It wouldn't be very befitting for, possibly, the future queen of Gallagher to act in that way. She didn't even understand why she thought that now, after all this time, she had a hope of becoming a queen (did she even want to?)? She did have a boyfriend: Josh, but they really could never be together; if her mother found out that she had been associating with a green, and not a pink, Cameron would be punished severely, perhaps eternal work, because grounding didn't help the family one bit.

Cameron was brought over to the dining room, occupied by people that she thought might have some serious issues to want gold mascara smeared all over their faces and others with makeup that made them look more of a clown than posh, their obvious goal. Young girls were either forced or place gently into high-raised leather chairs, their faces expressionless except for the occasional smile that they sent to the way of the prince. The prince, a.k.a. the kidnapper who had been forced to bring her to this place. She was brought to the fifth chair on the right side of the dining room, and a short, green-haired man who made him look quite pudgy, in fact, with a bright yellow suit stood in front of her, waiting impatiently for any comments. "Well? We'lll need to talk about your image."

"My image?" Though she obviously knew that she wasn't even close to pretty back in Carolina, she would have much more competition here, where the prettiest and most talented girls in the land had come to be courted. Still, she thought that the Queen might have chosen her not because of her piano and violin talents, but because that her image might have been fine, just the way it was, without any prosthetic surgeries or makeovers. The concept itself was quite confusing to her ears. "I don't want to change myself."

The man in front of her just nodded his head, muttering incomprehensible words underneath his breath so that she couldn't hear what he was saying to the consultant in front of him, who broke into a cry of raucous laughter. "Oh, my! Do we have an individual here?" Her voice was shallow, almost hollow-sounding, but Cameron could hear the surprise tinting the edges of the statement, which was more sung than said, to be truthful.

"Aren't we all?"

She just smiled and continued on with yelling at the yellow-haired man in the far corner, to put more blush on the girl's cheeks, and less foundation on her forehead. Cameron believed that living a posh lifestyle such as this one, for however many days it lasted, was harder than it looked; it seemed like learning how to speak a new language, with a time limit. Before Cameron knew it, she literally had been polished up, yet though she looked prettier than ever, she felt as though she was being raised as a pig for the slaughterhouse. The two girls in front of her, young and with immature side-ponytails that made them look more natural than anything she had seen at the palace so far, motioned towards her nails, and Cameron realized that they wanted to paint them. "Oh, it's okay. I don't mind if my nails are painted."

The grins on their faces were unmistakable and Cameron felt happy for bringing joy, even if it was so little, to their faces, which reminded her so much of home and her little sister whose face used to look like that before the work started. A camera crew came in soon after, zooming in on her face, and after she tried to move once, adjusting her hair for the angle of the camera, the woman looked like she was about to behead the girl in front of her, even if it meant being fired from the royal palace of Gallagher. "Don't move," she ordered, squinting at the girl's bare toenails, and sighing when she realized that they hadn't been painting, not even with a neutral shade.

After going most of the process with only a pure white robe that felt so soft to touch, and being forced to swallow something that the man called a "breath mint" that looked more like a medicine pill than a food, it was finally time to be led over to the racks of clothes. The mere amount of dresses that were hanging behind her name could last for years back in Carolina, yet there were no clothes that she was accustomed to wearing. Like pants. After being allowed to choose, she ended up in a cream-colored day dress, which was "off-the-shoulder", hit above her knees, yet she was forced to wear a cinched belt as her waist was narrow enough as it was, living in a poorer place than most at the Selection, being a blue. A silver pin was placed near the top of her dress, with her name glittering across (Cameron), and after being forced to wear "kitten heels", a camera took her "after" shot, and was ordered to go towards one of the camera stations.

Waiting for a few minutes, Cameron had the time to look around the setting, where some girls were sitting shyly, barely giving out a smile to anybody unless it was the prince or someone that they knew, while on the other hand, some girls were yelling at their hairdressers and make-up artists to make them look more beautiful. She didn't understand why they cared so much, but she presumed it was because they had trained their whole lives for these days, or months, or years if it took that long. A woman soon came up with a clipboard.

"So we'll just do a little interview here, and you do your best on the Reports, and then don't be shy when you see us around the palace. We aren't here every day, but we'll be around," the woman spoke, signaling for the red light to light up on top of the camera in the far distance. "Cameron Morgan, right?"

"Yes." She tried to keep her voice calm and collected.

"So, what did you think of the experience today? What happened?"

"I got a few layers put in my hair," she thought, running her fingers through her hair and admiring how soft they felt. "I was also covered in vanilla lotion. I kind of smell like dessert."

The woman laughed, though Cameron didn't mean for her statement to be a joke. "It is lovely. That dress really suits you. How has this experience been so far, though? You're one of the three Fives in the Selection."

"Better."

"I reckon that it will only get better," she commented. "Well, if that's all you have to say, I'm sure all of Gallagher wishes you the best of luck." A few moments later, the red light was off, and Cameron could drop her fake smile. "And, we're off!"

* * *

Later that night, Cameron was motioned to walk into the boarding house, where there were thirty-five beds waiting for the lucky winners of the preliminaries of the Selection, with their name tags on each door. As soon as she walked in, she noticed a difference in the air of the room: it seemed so much colder and much more quiet than she had expected. A tap on her shoulder, and she whirled around, nearly falling over in the kitten heels she was still forced to wear.

Prince Zachary was there. "So, I'll see you tomorrow morning at 7 for a stroll around the palace."

Before she knew it, or even had the chance to respond, the mysterious, smirking prince was gone, and in his absence, the other thirty-four girls turned around and glared at her, in jealousy and in hate.

* * *

_Hi!_

_I'm really sorry that I haven't updated this story in over a month, but it's just that I have a lot of other story ideas and stories that I also have to update soon, too. _

_Review?_

_~Clara~_


	5. iv

_Disclaimed._

* * *

In the morning, I rose to the smell of vanilla beans and the odor of a faint perfume that reminded me of the sweet strawberries grown on the fields and everything else back home. Mother, Father, Josh. Josh. I had forgotten about him for the time being, or ever since I had "welcomed" the prince into my father's house, or if I really was truthful to myself, ever since our interlude in the tree house. I brushed the thoughts out of my mind as a white dove landed delicately outside of the glass window that looked like it belonged anywhere but in the room of a blue, it smushed itself into the windowsill. Hurriedly, I ran across the room, trying to save the poor little dove who nonetheless embodied innocence, but could not find a way to open the window; the golden lock was broken.

The dove was dead.

-.-

I've always liked to think that apathy was a sort of living oblivion, or that fairy tales really did exist, or that even someday I would be lucky enough to find someone who was right for me, but there's nothing more than I've wished for than a happy life. Not a perfect one, in which there will be a prince coming to save none other than moi, the damsel in distress or in which there will always be a happily ever after waiting at the end of my story, but a life in which I'm content. Here, at the Palace I've never felt more out of place. Being the new girl in town isn't a feel that I'm not exactly not accustomed to, what with moving at least thirty times in my childhood alone and having to perform in front of large audiences, but being chosen in the Selection is an entirely new experience.

Never really having _actual _motivation was a huge disappointment to my family. Here? I'm not sure of myself anymore. Self-identity wasn't a problem I had had back home. I tried to brush the longing thoughts to the recesses of my brain, but they kept on resurfacing. There was something wrong with her, she suddenly decided. A normal girl would have gotten over a boyfriend who wasn't even the same color as her. A normal girl would have jumped at the chance to enter the Selection, the prestigious event where she could become queen (oooh..pretty tiaras!) and marry the gorgeous Zachary Goode.

Then again, Cameron Morgan wasn't normal.

A smile danced across the corner of her lips. Could that be why she was chosen?

"There were _other _reasons." A voice broke out from the corner of the room, and without even turning around, Cameron knew who it was, and instinctively screamed and pulled a pillow around her body, barely concealed with a thin nightdress.

She started throwing pillows at his smirking face, and screaming simultaneously. "Get out, you idiot! I'm not even dressed."

"You look fine, this morning, Miss Morgan."

Her gaze turned murderous, and she had to resist the urge to say that she had a boyfriend. "Get. Out. Now." Something in her gaze must have looked deadly enough, because after a minute-long stare-down, Zachary was gone.

-.-

The next time that Cameron checked the flourescent clock, the number switched from 6:59 to 7:00, and a bell in the far distance rang seven times. She pulled off the towel from her hair and dried it on the old-fashioned way, even though there was an option in the shower that could dry her hair to ultimate perfection. Still, by doing this, Cameron reassured herself that she was still herself. When she was kicked out of the Selection, she wanted to be the same person that she was when she went in, even though she knew that would be impossible. Cameron just didn't want to lose herself for a _guy._

Cameron dressed simply, wearing a satin bustier dress that reminded her more of the classic eras where corsets (pretty-making) were used, and she know knew that it took skill to wear those high heels, and not manage to fall over. Looking at herself in the mirror, and applying a little make-up onto her face, she grinned at herself. Her mother would have been proud. Her mother. Her mother might no-

Her thoughts were interrupted by an obnoxious knock on the door. When she didn't immediately respond or open the door, the knock resounded again, and again, and again.

"Coming," she yelled, in a completely not lady-like manner as she settled on a pair of ballet flats whose color didn't even match the pale pink dress. The light green burette that positioned her hair into a fancy updo that she could never manage doing herself.

Opening the door, she crashed into a solid body, and she looked up in an apologetic manner to meet emerald eyes. "Sorry," she managed to squeak out. Now, more than ever, Cameron felt insignificant. She didn't belong in the Palace. But if she didn't belong in the Palace, and she didn't belong back home, where did she belong? "How do you even afford all of this?" She examined the walls and the ornate decorations that looked like they had cost more than a thousand blues could ever earn.

"Taxes."

"Taxes?" Cameron screamed indignantly. "Do you know how many people back home have to starve every day because they have to pay all the money that they've earned, and sometimes even sell all of their precious possessions, for taxes that were supposed to only be paid to protect the country? You're a real jerk."

They walked in silence for a few minutes before exiting the doors. Entering the garden, Cameron couldn't help but let out a small gasp at the entire beauty. Everything was neatly arranged, from the trimmed bushes in different shapes and important figures, to the flowers which were organized flawlessly by color, to the fountain, which sparkled a clear water, completely purified of any dirt: from the view of a blue, it was perfection, to say the least. "It's beautiful," she breathed out, turning around to examine everything and commit it to memory. Mother would have loved this, she thought to herself.

"You're beautiful."

Cameron rolled her eyes and continued on with the walk. If she was a normal girl, she would be swooning right now, under her serious gaze, but she knew better than to be _that_ kind of girl. She should have known that this was going to happen; him trying to magically make her fall in love with him. "I'm not just another part of your games, Goode."

"I could have you thrown in jail for your impudence." At least he was truthful.

"But, you won't."

"And, why's that?" They stopped and looked each other in the eyes, blue and green.

"Because...because...you're better than that," Cameron finally said, deciding on an answer. She wasn't quite sure if he was better than the narcissistic shallow stereotype people had made out of him (or was that just her?), but as not to look too inferior, she had to come up with something.

Why did she even want to impress Zachary?

"Are you sure about that?" He raised an eyebrow, and another smirk appeared.

"Very."

"You're wrong."

"I'm never wrong."

"There's always a first."

"Not for me."

Like in a fairy tale, the tension between us and our argument brought us closer and closer together until we were only a few inches apart from each other. Zachary leaned in closer.

But, remember, this isn't a fairytale.

So, I sprayed water onto his face and fled.

-.-

I was a coward. An unbelievably stupid coward. Technically, what I had just done was illegal; I had signed a contract not too long ago when I signed up for the Selection, pledging not to stop any advances Zachary made upon me. I brushed the thoughts from mind, and plopped down onto my mattress. At dinnertime, there would, for certain, be an announcement of the girls who would leave that night; with my rude actions in the morning, I would be among the few to leave. And to think that I could have had the chance to win; or was Zach just playing me? Who knew? He could have been doing that to all of the girls in the Selection, and I would never have suspected a thing.

There was a knock at the door, and an envelope was slipped through the dog tray along with a small platter of biscuits and a small piece of dark chocolate, as it seemed to be called. When nobody entered, I quickly took the tray and the envelope, discarding the latter carelessly, and devoured the food as if I was a savage. I had to admit that I was acting like one. Perhaps it was good that I would be kicked out of the whole competition by supper. The queen shouldn't be so improper, like me. In the Palace, it seemed as though being skinnier was a new fad, but back home, when a person actually had a belly, people flocked around him or her, begging for their secrets of having the luxury of actually being able to _afford _food.

After scarfing down the food, and immediately feeling guilty -who knew when I would get my next meal?-, I opened the envelope carefully, and gasped as the contents fell to the floor. A gold pin in the shape of a glass slipper lay so delicately on the floor, that I was afraid to pick it up -in fear that I might break the fragile treasure-. Then, I read the envelope.

You are formally invited to: The Grand Hall.

Arrive promptly at 7:00.

Wear the pin.

Discretion is mandatory.

-.-

That night, a bell rang seven times, as I entered the room, after being announced with heralds and trumpets and all the other things that I really didn't deserve. I thought like a simpleton -that could also be a reason why I would be leaving the competition. A real Plebian, I was. The noise settles down as the guests settled into the grand dining hall, and none other than the prince himself came onto the stage, microphone in hand; the applause began, even from those most reluctant, such as myself.

"Good evening, ladies and gentleman. Thank you for coming today. Today is an auspicious day, that marks the start of one of the most rare and important events of Gallathorne, the Selection. Thirty-five girls from all around the country have been selected this year, to have the chance to compete for the position of being the queen of the country. As you all know, there are certain procedures about the selection, such as the fact that the ladies could not refuse any advances I made upon them." I was right. Narcissistic and shallow.

"This morning, one of the ladies of the selection refused an advance I made upon her, a simple kiss. That's all. I would like to apologize to her." I sat up a little straighter in my chair; the word apologize and sorry didn't seem like words that came in Zachary's vocabulary. "I'm sorry for being such a rude jerk, and I would like to start over again with you. We can just be friends, I don't mind. I'm just asking for a second chance."

There was a silence, and then a round of applause and heartbreaking sobs coming from the other thirty-four girls who just knew that it wasn't them; they were sending envious glances at each other. Nobody knew who it was, and nobody knew that it was me, thankfully. I couldn't live with anymore hate. "I know that love shouldn't be a factor in who becomes the Queen, but meeting her last night -that was love at first sight."

Could he get any cheesier? Though, that was really sweet of Zachary, and unexpected. "Without any further ado, let me present my father, King Goode."

Another round of applause, and I couldn't help but notice that Zachary sent a subtle glance towards me, then turned away disappointed as if he had seen something in my eyes that wasn't quite agreeable with him.

At the end of the night, I was to busy to notice that I hadn't been rejected from the selection.

-.-

"Have you ever had the chance to fall in love?" It was a simple question really, but I wasn't sure how to reply to it. Doing so, truthfully, could put me in jail.

"Yes, your highness."

"Please, call me Zach."

"Yes, Zach." The words sounded odd coming off my tongue.

He raised his eyebrows slightly. "Then, you're quite lucky. I fell in love once, with Daphne, a young lass-

"...-who says the word lass anymore?"

"You're rude."

"That's what my parents have always told me." I paced around the courtyard. "Never thought that my rudeness might let me end up _here."_

_"_What about your parents?" he pressed.

"What about _your _parents?" I replied.

"You know my parents."

"I only know what I've seen or read in newspapers and magazines. You can't really know a person, truly, without actual meeting them. Talking to them. You, of all people, know that."

"My mother? She's the most cruel and wonderful person, at the same time. She's the best peacemaker ever, and I admire her in a thousand ways. She's always trying to make me a better person, and she was always against the whole idea of the selection. I'm glad she didn't refuse though, when I become of age."

"Why not?"

"Because, then I wouldn't have met you," he remarked cheekily, smirking. I had to resist the urge to slap the smirk off of his face, though I could see that he respected his parents. More than that, he admired them, as though a young girl admire an idol of hers. I loved my parents like any other child, but I don't think that I admired and honored them as much as did Zachary. "My father? He's a workaholic. The last time that we went to a cruise to Great Britain -a land far from here- where troubles are nonexistent, and everything is just so picturesque...he had to leave within the first four hours. Some crisis. I really do respect that he has to control the country, but sometimes, I just can't wish that I lived in a normal family."

"I'm sorry, Zach." I really was. All my life, I had complained about being poor. Now? The rich seemed to have it even worse: their whole lives planned out for them even before they had uttered a single syllable.

We were quiet for a moment, sitting down on rocking chairs.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

"Everything here's just too _soon_, if you know what I mean. I'm only twenty-one years old, and suddenly I have to choose a wife and rule the country. It's a little scary."

"Which one's scarier?" He laughed.

"I'm not really sure. Both of them, I guess." Zachary's unguarded eyes became shielded once more, and I could see his carefree nature disappear.

I dangled my feet over the edge of the chair, trying in vain to reach the ground. Though I was one of the taller girls back home, here, where height was a sign of good breeding and eloquence, I didn't quite fit in with the standard, much less than being on the top."

"How about Cammie? As a nickname?"

It hit me like a sudden slap, a cold splash of water across my face. "No. Anything but that." My voice reminded myself a robot, and I knew exactly why.

"My ex used to call me that."

My comment had made the surrounding more uncomfortable now. He was just trying to be a good person, that's all, but I had gotten agitated and frustrated for all the right reasons that he would never understand. I felt bad, now. With the problems with the riots coming from the rebels on the outlying areas of the country and the girls were so desperately vying for his affection and love, he couldn't be with a girl who didn't even matter, a girl who didn't even really care about him.

"You should go. I'm sure you have a lot of work," I began, awkwardly.

He sighed, thankful for an excuse to leave. "Of course."

I curtsied. "Your highness." I rose to leave from the warm surface of the bench, and was suddenly aware of how cold it was outside.

"Cameron?" he called.

I turned around, a confused look on my face.

"It's Zach, Gallagher Girl."

-.-

When I went up to my room, I was shocked to see at least seven -no, eight- girls already leaving, tears streaming down their face with mascara running, and their heads shaking with disappointment. So, it had begun.

And just like that, there were **only** 27 girls left.

So, I _must_ have done something right.

* * *

_Sorry it took so long to update (half a month), but I made this chapter an extra thousand words longer to make up for. Thanks for all the feedback, guys!_

_I think, that in the next chapter, Josh will be introduced, and the love triangle and more drama will begin._

_Review?_

_xx,_

_Clara_


	6. v

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

"Mark the date," Zachary told me, pacing back and forth across the length of the room. Or, that was what I had liked to think. Technically, he was talking to the twenty-seven of us that hadn't been kicked out of the selection of date, and more specifically, about the next time that we would have a television interview.

Of course, that would be an auspicious moment for those who didn't make any major -or minor- mistakes in the next week.

::

It was the night of the grand ball, where another publicized television interview would take place, and only twenty-four of the original thirty-five remained standing. Three queen could-have-been's had been so rudely dismissed, with a flick of a hand, and demoted back to their lifestyles. Cameron was the only blue who still remained in the selection, though she knew that it would only be time, before some error would be found with her. However, she couldn't help but judge her so-called competition.

A lady with pale skin and long black hair that made a stark difference against her naturally beautiful features was a purple, by the name of Macey McHenry. Quite the opposite was a young girl who couldn't have been older than sixteen, not even tipping the scale at seventy dripping weight -however, Elizabeth Sutton carried herself with a noble demeanor, not much unlike the queen herself-. The only dark-skinned was Rebecca Baxter, one of the few people in the competition to come from a foreign country by the name of Britain. Tina Walters was the daughter of one of the members of the court.

"You're all sisters, here," one of the hairstylists announced, clapping her hands. "There's no reason for hair-pulling or jealousy to arise just because on girl is taken out for a stroll in the gardens." Glares were shot at Cameron, enviously, and the woman sighed. "Or just because one of them is called up to speak personally with the queen." This time, those glares were shot at Macey, who ignored them.

The night of the ball was glorious, to say the least, as each girl floated down their staircases (coincidentally, there were twenty-six), all looking towards the chandeliers ahead or the prince who was sitting in the royal box. Once the chatter settled down, the speech started.**  
**

"Welcome to the Selection, ladies and gentlemen. You are all gathered here today for a brief discussion and lecture on the history of this magnificent country and the need of the Selection." Cameron almost giggled when she saw Macey stifling a fake yawn, but stopped herself in time. "As you all know, Gallathorne was built on the foundation of trust and loyalty from...". Cameron blocked out the rest. None of the lectures or discussions mattered when she saw Zachary and Tina leaving the hall, together. Holding hands.

-:-

Cameron Morgan wasn't the jealous type of girl. After all, back home, most girls had tried to make a move on Josh...oh, Josh. She hadn't even though about he might be faring back at home -if she didn't win the competition, she would still be upgraded to a higher color. Josh would stay the same, and Cameron knew that her mother would never allow something to happen between them, if that occurred -which it would. Cameron just wished that she could break things off with Josh, politely, because quite frankly, if she went back home, Cameron wasn't sure if she would feel anything for Josh -not in the way that she felt for Zach-.

The thoughts for Zach were brushed out of her mind when she saw Tina and Zachary re-enter the hall, her pink lips a little more bruised than before, and both of them looking more flustered, his brown hair a little more messed up.

Screw _them_.

-:-

A knock sounded at her door.

For once, Cameron leaped out of bed without looking at her appearance -hoping that she would be disqualified from the Selection, so that she could return to home (oh how she missed it). She opened the door, a dejected look first appearing on her face when she saw Prince Zachary but she couldn't help but let a squeal erupt when she saw who was behind him.

Josh.

"Josh!" she screamed, running into his arms. He spun her around, and for once, Cameron didn't care about what anyone else thought of her. Once he set her down, Cameron asked, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"New job," he grinned. "Couldn't stay too long away from you, little sis."

Little sis? Cameron had to resist the urge to swear. What did he mean by, little sis? Josh and Cameron weren't related, not even in the slightest. So, what was he talking about?

"Well, I'll leave you too to catch up," the Prince acknowledged, leaving the vicinity.

As soon as the coast was clear, Cameron was able to speak of her own free will. "What do you mean by, little sis?" There was a strange glare in her eyes.

Josh sighed, putting down the basket in his hands. "Well, I had to come up with an excuse to see you. It was the first thing I could think of," he admitted. "Well, it doesn't matter. As long as I'm with you, everything's fine." He looked into her eyes, and Cameron expected to fall in love all over again, and have that feeling in her stomach -almost like butterflies, but not quite-.

It wasn't there.

::

"So, how's your _brother _doing?"

"Zachary," she snapped. "Right now, if you don't mind, I'd like to return to speaking with my friend."

"Your friend?"

"Macey?"

"Ah, Miss McHenry."

"Yes, Miss McHenry. Let. Go. Of. My. Arm!" He didn't.

"I need to talk to you," he said.

"Not right now. Josh is supposed to be meet-"

"Josh has work to do. I'm sure you can catch up some other time."

"You don't understand. He's my boyf-" She caught herself in time. "Brother."

"Boyf-brother?" Zach gave her a quizzical glance, smirking. "No, I don't think I've ever heard of the term. Drop the act, Morgan. I know that he's your boyfriend. You don't even have any brothers."

"You're not supposed to now anything." The real question comes next. "How did you know?"

The Prince stood up and pointed to himself. "Spy. I thought you should know. Aren't you the Gallagher Girl?"

"Stop. Stop all of this. I can't do this anymore." She speaks in stutters and in monosyllables, almost afraid to say what's on her mind. "Stop flirting with me." There's a moment of silence, and Cameron's not sure how to break it -so, she thinks that this would be a good time to say good-bye. "Good night, your royal highness." She mockingly bows herself out of the room.

The Prince stands there, dumbfounded for at least thirty minutes, because, quite frankly, nobody has ever turned him down. Cameron's an enigma. That much, he knows. _She's a challenge_, he mouths. Zachary's not sure to who, though, until a figure steps out of the shadows.

"Well, at least you're not an idiot, Goode. We can work with that." Fluorescent blue eyes meet his own emerald green ones. "Of course, I'll help you get her. But, quite frankly, we've got a lot of work to do."

-:-

**Beta-read by the ah-mazing splendeur. **

**I'm sorry that this is really short, but I wanted to post a chapter, and bring in the character of Josh, though this is more of a filler chapter. Also, I brought in some of the other canon characters, and I promise to introduce Bex, Liz, Jonas, and Grant in the next chapter along with Preston who will play a minor role in the plot.**

**Anyway, thanks so much for all the reviews!**

**Now that Josh has been introduced, I know it's a little early, but could you please start voting on who Cammie should choose (Josh or Zach?) in reviews or PM's? Thanks!  
**

**Please review?**

**xx,  
**

**Clara**


	7. vi

So in the dream, there's this lighthouse.

In which brings back the fondest, perhaps the best and the worst of memories that Cammie's ever thought about, experience, dreamt for, _she ponders to herself,_ turning the lights out. Over time, she had forgotten, along with the other fragments of her rambling thoughts, about everything that had happened; yet, the night of the ball, once it had finally come to an end, at last, Cammie dreamt of the waves.

It was as though the ocean was outside the tinted window the whole of the night.

Its familiar waves, the way that they crashed onto the beaches, and the excited squeals of children when the low tide would finally come back so that they could go back to shell-collecting and running through the water, splashing each other mercilessly. Going to the beach was one of the lighter memories of a life of one previously so poor and desolate. It was as though the Palace had rejuvenated Cammie into somebody that she used to be as a child: that kind of girl who could believe in anything and everything; the kind of girl that everybody believed.

Her smile fades. It really was much easier back then.

For some time, Cammie sat awake in bed, holding onto the sheets as she wished that she had never grown up, looking outside at the window, at one of the newer lighthouses, scoffing a little at the fact that there was an actual lighthouse, "guarding" a pond.

She wondered how her life would have been if she had grown up in royalty.

Perhaps, it would be like a dream come true, she realizes. Having enough food to eat, having everything served to you whenever you wanted: even one of the privileges would have been to anybody, really, back home; for a moment, Cammie wonders if she can smuggle some food out of the Palace, and then realizes that she can barely escape herself.

There's a knock at her door.

"Hello?" she murmurs, tying her bathrobe closed, and wondering who could be up at this late hour; after all, it was already half past three in the early 'morn. "Who is it?" she asks again, looking through the keyhole to see a pair of ravishing blue eyes. Josh. Quickly, Cammie opens the door, pushes him in, and locks the door behind her. "_What _are you doing here?" Cammie tries to be angry, but can't hide the excitement from her voice.

"Shh! I came to take you to a party," Josh whispers.

"A party?"

::

There were bright flashes of light. Music so loud that I could feel the vibrations coursing through my body, threatening to knock over my frail self to the harsh, unwelcoming ground, covered in litter, trash, and was that glitter? Clusters of bodies were packed together as though they were trying to conserve body warmth in the already sweaty hall.

It was a party.

An actual party; not one of those fancy cotillions or balls that went on so often. Even though Josh and her were in the outskirts of the country, she was still hearing whispers of _him. _Rumours -he had always been the center of them. Wherever she had gone throughout the country, perhaps internationally even, there was always a mention, a hushed whisper of Prince Zachary Goode: of his looks, achievements, and the like.

She's never actually been to a _real _party before.

Now, she realizes why; it's quite dangerous, and the flashing red lights, from what's it called? The Dee-Jay?, seem to be giving her what feels like a heart attack or perhaps the white lights will permanently blind her if not something from another cause. Cammie's trying to follow Josh, who seems to be caught in the middle of the crowd. "Josh!" she screams, as loud as her lungs will allow her.

But, everybody else drowns her out.

She falls to the floor, suddenly, trying to get up; instead, Cammie is trampled by the mass of bodies.

By the time that morning comes, the whole place is evacuated, and Cammie finally tries to move; instead, she finds that she doesn't have any energy left and instead collapses. She tries to lift her head, but it's heavy, too heavy: she can tell that something's not right. When she tries to lift her arm to support herself, Cammie falls back down as a searing pain runs up the sides of her legs. Cammie falls back to sleep.

What seems like around four days later, Cammie hears a scream.

It's not one of those squeals from the girls from the Palace or even back home, an excited one, from one of the men when they finally catch a marlin or fish worth selling. It's a sign of hope though; if there's a scream, it means that there's somebody, anybody nearby, and maybe if they see her or if Cammie yells loud enough, she'll be saved.

Only moments later, she feels her head being supported, and slips out of consciousness.

::

There's a blinding light from outside.

Cammie opens her crusted eyes, and immediately regrets the mistake as the light burns through her pupils. She hears snippets of conversations from behind the heavily painted, perhaps recently painted, black door, including "palace" and "can't afford it" and "have to save her". While she's eavesdropping and peering through a crack in the door, she learns that the boy's name is Elliot and the woman's name is Carla.

They're perhaps whites or maybe pinks, she decides, on the fact that they can afford paint and decent clothing.

As Cammie tries to walk down the staircase, one of the stairs falls out beneath her feet, and Cammie tumbles to the ground, landing in an uncomfortable position: on her head. There's a flurry and myriads of murmurs, all jumbled up inside of her messed-up brain.

::

The next time that she wakes up, Cammie's sure of where she is: back at her bedroom, in the Palace, on the second floor, with nobody else in the room besides a few birds perched on the windowsill, staring, as though they're looking into her soul. It could have all been a dream (the dancing, the party, Josh), except there are still remainders and memories of that night. She's not exactly sure how many nights that was ago.

There's also the fact that she's "connected", to say, to a myriad of tubes.

Injections of liquids from a combination of vials and cups are being shot into her body almost every second, and she can't help but start to wince, and just wonder a little. Flashes and blinks are all that she has left of those moments, just flashes and blinks.

Something catches the corner of her eye.

There's a golden envelope on top of a box in the corner of the room, and for once, it's not as if she hasn't seen this envelope and exact same box before; therefore, it's not really the radiance that catches her eye, but the memories of that box. Tears, and cries, flashes and blinks of misery come from that: even though she can barely think straight, Cammie remembers seeing that box in bedrooms and chambers throughout the Palace; it was her farewell.

Her last statements, a good-bye.

It wasn't a ridiculous notion that she would be "kicked out" of the Selection, after the stunt that she had pulled a few nights ago, but she still wondered why she's still being connected to all these tubes. The Royal Family wouldn't spend all this money to save a life of a girl who wouldn't be residing in the Palace for more than a few hours after receiving the rejection.

Curiously, Cammie reached out, snatching the envelope from on top of the bureau with her foot, and taking out the letter, holding it carefully as if it might self-destruct in her own firm grip. Reading the letter, she gasps. _Well, this isn't the first time that I've been wrong before, _she thinks wryly.

She hasn't been kicked out.

Even though she's supposed to be feeling every sort of relief in the world, Cammie's just kind of dissapointed; all she wants to do is go back home, as sad as that sounds. Birds can fly away, but she's stuck here.

After all, Cammie hadn't expected the Prince to take an interest in her.


	8. vii

**a/n: **by the way, please, if time allows, check out my other gallagher girl story, **the defiant ones**.** review for a 300 word preview?**

hope everyone also enjoys this chapter, :)

* * *

The letter has been burned.

Of course, _Cammie ponders, _it would have made sense to keep the collectible item, perhaps sell it somewhere, in order to raise money for those in povertous conditions (and for once, she isn't like _them) _,but that's what she would have done back then. Back way before she realized that Royals (at least, some of them) have hearts.

They're capable of that much; at least Prince Zachary (or Zach, as he tells her to call him) is.

Everyday they come; by messenger pigeons, who come crashing into the windowsills, alerting the maids to run frantically across the room, taking the bird to the nearest infirmary after delivering the letter to her; or, maybe through the dog flap, thrown far enough in so that Cammie can be able to reach it, while staying connected to her despicable oxygen tubes (then again, she shouldn't hate them. They are keeping her alive).

"But for how long?" she murmured.

That was the real question.

For how much longer would she survive, and survival wasn't even of the utmost importance anymore, not after she would be put as a four or three after being kicked out of the Selection. It was frightening, though. She was turning into one of them, one of those starstruck girls who pined over princes and the thoughts of becoming a magical, sparkling fairy princess: their words, not hers.

The door burst open; ruddy-faced Joshua Abrams stood in the doorway.

In a swift moment, he drew a sword, smashing three security cameras, each on the sides of the room, without damaging any of the medial equipment, and the glass shattered, falling to the ground, cameras in pieces. "What was _that _for?" Cammie burst out. "You're going to get yourself in trouble."

He comes closer to her bed, and for once, Cammie tries to scoot away. "You might have chosen the Prince, Cammie," he caresses her chin, "-but, I'll never stop my conquest to win your heart."

"Why do you love me?" she asks. It's a plain question; one that Joshua doesn't have the answer to, or even the right words; of course, he knows how he feels about Cammie: it's pure, simplistic love, but with the Prince here, he can't exactly tell her how he feels. Or can, he? _No, _he decides. It would the situation even more complicated than it already was.

There's a pause. "Since I know you love me." The desparation in his voice, the never-ending pleading, all of its quite frightening.

"—I love you, too."

::

She keeps her head down at dinner.

In the dorm rooms, Cammie could be brave, because she had had Macey beside her, and Macey just thought that she was nice; she is nice. But here, sandwiched between two people, Rebecca Baxter, who's twirling her fork menacingly as she plunges it into the dish, as though the food's some sort of poison, and Emily Sampson, who's so ladylike, that she pouts her lip and refuses to speak.

Cammie just wants to escape to her room.

If that option was possible, though, she would have seized it within the instant, never looking back from her decision. Instead, being as ladylike as possible (but not too ladylike) would be the only feasible option. She decides to speak to Rebecca, a girl who seems as though she would be a better conversation partner rather than the shy Miss Sampson.

"Rebecca?" she murmurs, making sure that her mouth isn't opening up too large (Miss Buckingham would have none of that nonsensical behavior).

The noun of direct address does not stir. "Hello," she replies, simply, picking up another piece of strawberry from the center of the table. "I'm Rebecca. You should know something, but I can only tell you after dinner. Meet me in the courtyard at 10."

Without another word, the meal continues on. After dinner and an array of desserts that only Cammie and Mick Morrison ate, the supervisors dismissed them.

At the top of the spiral staircase, they all went in our different directions, each girl heading off to her own room; Rebecca pulled her aside, concern etched on her face. "Are you okay?"

Cammie recollected the dismissive stares, their beady eyes watching her every move, finally stopping once news of Prince erupted from one of the lower tables, snooping elsewhere instead. "Yes. It's just that...some of the girls were looking strangely at me, earlier."

To her chagrin, Rebecca erupted into a fit of unladylike laughter; before long, once they were sitting outside in the courtyard, Cammie began to fall into a fit of laughter as well, clutching her stomach as she doubled-over. Wiping the tears from her eyes, Rebecca turned towards Cammie. "Bex Baxter," she said, in a thick Cockney accent, much like Eliza Doolittle. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"You too," Cammie replies. "I'm Cammie."

Rebecca-wait, no, it's Bex- takes a breath of air. "Were you homeschooled?"

"—why?" Cammie raises her eyebrows. Was there something wrong with her; did she speak informally (well, probably, that was it)?

"No, it's nothing like that," Rebecca replies, almost reading Cammie's mind. "It's just that, you have a lot to learn if you really want to win the Selection. I mean, there are girls who've been preparing for this since the moment that they were born; I'm not really that kind of person, but ever since I was seven years old, I remember that I was put out of training and into etiquette classes. I'm just saying that the Prince really likes you; it's obvious. But, you might have to change if you want to end up winning. Good luck."

She leaves the room.

::

_Knock-knock-knock._

The familiar pattern strikes Cammie out of her cinematic daydream, snapping her back to the dangerous reality, where one step could cost her her life. Toweling her dirty blonde hair dry, she presses a button, admitting the person into the room. Within moments, she is knocked out with three Nicotine patches ("it's a three-patch problem," a man mutters).

By the time she wakes up, it's night.

Actually, Cammie's not quite sure if it's night, but the room has two windows, and it seems dark enough outside to qualitfy as night; she reprimands herself for thinking about what time it is when she's been kidnapped. Of course, that's the only possible explanation to all of this, unless, unless this was another test set up by the Palace.

"Hello? Is anybody else there?"

Of course, because, there's a fresh roll of black (or is that pink?) duck-tape across her lips, the muffled noises sound like a mouse squeaking; after all, there are plenty of those here too. She's not really sure if this is her fault for not being proper enough, but then again, Cammie had heard rumours of kidnappings in the Palace from rebellions internationally, another reason why she wishes that she hadn't entered the Selection in the first place?

The door opens, ever so slightly, until a face is revealed: it's the face of a women. It's not just any women, however, Cammie realizes, as she's looking into a face televised across the country, Queen Catherine.

"Hello, sweetie. You really should have expected this from the start," she takes a breath, pacing across the room. It's bright enough to make out her facial features, which are narrowed in distaste, "—, because my son really _never _could have loved you. He loves me the most, and he always will."

Cammie screams through the tape, though it comes out as mumbles. As if the Queen's almost tired of it all, she angrily rips off the tape. "He doesn't hate me! He loves me more than he could ever love you, you monster!"

"Bad thing," the Queen murmurs. "To say to a women who controls your life. Oh, well. Well, if you'd like me to prove it—." Cammie nods fervently. "—I would be delighted to do so. Bring him in, boys!"

The Queen leaves for a few minutes, even though Cammie knows that either she's standing outside the door right now, or perhaps watching the security cameras that are balanced precariously on the edge of the room, almost as if the Queen wished for her to notice them, to notice that every action was being watched and monitored closely. The whole place sickened her, and she didn't even understand half the things that were going on.

About half a month ago (she had lost track of time, as well), she had been kidnapped by the Prince, taken to the Palace and had been told that she would be entered into the Selection, became a possible Queen candidate, and kidnapped again by no other than the Royal family in a location unknown, where she was about to face her certain death. _Wait_, she thinks. _There's always Zach. _Zach's the last glimmer of hope that Cammie can be holding onto. He'll save her, right? He had to: there was no other option.

The door slowly opens. "Hello, Cammie. It's time for your death."

It's Zach.


	9. ix

**-9-**

Cammie officially declares herself as the world's dumbest.

Who was she to trust a person who magically, apparently fell in love with the poorest, ugliest girls in the country? And, now what's she doing? She immediately wishes that she was trained to be some sort of karate student, a solder perhaps, anything, any skill that she could use to defend herself in times like _this, _but no: Cammie had to be a princess, not a spy-in-training. She wonders for a moment, how the rest of the members of those in the Selection were doing; it's strange, though; she didn't sign up to fall in love, and then be kidnapped and forced out of love.

"And, in case you're wondering, Gallagher Girl," began the Prince, his booming voice echoing across the walls, perhaps recorded by the machines, whirring away close by. "I don't have an evil twin, or anything like that."

Cammie closes her eyes, then opens them, as if she's trying to contain her emotions; overwhelming anger resides in place, a hint of sadness seeping into her voice. "I'm aware of that, Prince. I'm just wondering what the hell you're going to do with me."

There's no point in speaking with proper language, or even thinking that way anymore, especially if her life is at stake, and the fact that she probably will be killed any moment, by one of the people that she had previously thought that she could trust the most. She really should have kept up her walls, never letting anybody in: that would have been the safer way to go.

"I'm going to kill you," he murmurs, coming closer. Cammie resists the urge to push him away, knowing that if she did that, she might never make it out alive. "It's a good thing you're so beautiful. It'll make everything easier."

All of a sudden, Zach's leaves (she's known him too much, far too long, to call him the Prince), and Cammie is left alone, heart pounding as she clutches her hands, almost wringing them, because there's no way that she's going to make it out of this situation alive. She eagerly scavengers across the room, banging her head across the wall when she realizes that the source of light has been drained as she is trapped once more in this prison cell; perhaps, though, they will come for her once again. And when they come, she will be prepared to fight.

Scavenging for food turned out harder than it seemed like it would be; over the past few days, she had been able to manage to find a few dead rats, an empty packet of dark chocolate, crumbs licked and all, and a dead man, whose body she was currently examining for any sign of life. Judging by the pulse, he would only be in this realm for a few more minutes, and Cammie was determined to figure out the reason of his death; a blunt object to the back of his head, curved by the likes of the bruise. This wasn't the way of the Circle; she knew that much. Unless the man had figured out classified details, perhaps escape plans, he wouldn't be lying her, clutching his head in throbbing pain, his final thoughts ghosted into the empty ambiance of impurity and grime —for once, she missed the scrum of palace life.

"Are you alive," she murmured, speaking softly into an ear, wincing at the sight of blood coated with sand, and faint tinges of alcohol scrubs, in order to ensure maximum pain. "If you can hear me, blink twice."

The man lay on the ground, and blinked, repeating, "Count the shadows. For god's sake, run. Count the shadows. For god's sake, run. Count the shadows. For god's sake run." He was ghosting; Cammie could tell that much, his last thoughts going into a loop before he collapsed to the ground, eyes open. Moments later, she sighed, closing the eyelids. Whoever this person was, he didn't deserve this death. Nobody did.

She gulps, knowing that if she wouldn't be able to escape in the next forty eight hours (the approximate time when the members of the circle would get hungry, the urge to feed inevitable), this would be her untimely fate. Nonetheless, Cammie mustered the energy to lift the body and push it out through the bars of the cell, the man being lanky enough to fit through the bars. A thought flashed in her mind, but she immediately knew that she wouldn't be able to squeeze through, even with the help of the pots of herring oil, half opened as the smell wafts through the room, clogging up her nose and she ends up in a series of endless coughs.

An alarm goes off in the distance, and if on instinct, she ducks, holding her head as she manages to escape out of the air vents, falling into familiar arms. "Josh?" she breathed, throwing herself to the grown, almost as if she was feeling uncomfortable. "What are _you_ doing here?" She hadn't seen him in what felt like forever, and had barely even missed him, but still, it was nice to see a familiar face, even if it was a confusing one, nonetheless. Josh bore scars on both of his broadened shoulders, blood dripping slowly but there was a brave look on his face, as he was bearing army scars, marks of a true soldier or an officer.

"It's good to see you too, Cams," he replies, but there's a faraway look on his eyes, as if he would rather be anywhere else than here; she doesn't question the look and follows him into a truck, a vehicle badly damaged over the years by a quick scan. There's everything that she would rather do than follow people she's not even sure that she can trust anymore, but she doesn't even know what the word trust means anymore.

::

She wakes up in a bed —it's one of those comforted ones, with the fluffed mattresses and heavyweight pillows guaranteed to give double chins and the like, one girl eagerly standing over her, motioning to the other two that had various amounts of emotion splayed across their sleeping expressions, who jolted out of the comfy waiting area. "We heard," Rebecca said, popping into my dressing room. And then along came the rest of her friends— Elizabeth with her usual book, reading up on the history of the Palace, Macey fixing her hair while looking into a mirror, and a newcomer climbing through the window Cammie didn't even know existed who was immediately knocked down by the girls; Cammie immediately assumed that the so-called newcomer must have been a palace guard, judging by the uniform as she glanced, a worried expression on her face, out of the window; the fall must have been at least two hundred feet, and she knew that the man was now dead.

"Heard what," she replied, in a monotone voice. For the past couple of days, she had been trying to distract herself with the television, mind-numbing entertainment as it was and the bowl of cherries, spitting out the bitter seeds into a stainless steel cup, every now and then swallowing them. Cammie was currently flipping through the "channels" or so they were called, before Rebecca snatched the remote out of her head, and placed it on top of the television set, now turned off. Aside from the usual showers and interviews Cammie couldn't escape out of, she had forced herself to sit in this room and think about what had happened; if it was reality, or just a dream. It was a _really _good thing that nobody really cared about her; otherwise, she would have been subject to asylum, under diagnosis of severe depression.

"You know _what_," Macey emphasized —Macey was a tall girl, either a purple or a white, who hid behind a sadistic exterior, or so she assumed.

Cammie took a breath. "How long was I out?" Tied to the doorknob was a black ribbon, Cammie soon recognized about squinting. "It doesn't matter," she continued, taking a deep breath as she took in the scene in front of her.

The door was locked, three folding chairs stacked upon one and another, towels scattered carelessly throughout the room, sound suddenly blaring out of loudspeakers above, parameters only defined by the security cameras that lined the tops and bottoms of the room, the flashing crimson lights signifying nothing other than the fact that she was being watched; of course, they would always be watching her every move, until she was able to get out of here, which time she was currently unaware of.

"You were out for three days," Liz replied, checking her watch as she undid the straps that binded Cammie to the bed, generously supplied by the royalty themselves. The only light that came into the room was the soft moonlight, coming from the open window, barely reaching past the balcony. "Anyway, the Palace —at least the mother and father of this nation did a few scans on your brain, along with a few MRIs, and I think that they were able to scan it; we all know what that means."

She resisted the urge to scream. "No, Liz, all of us do _not _know what that means! English, please?" She directed her attention towards Rebecca who almost looked offended.

"It means that they know that you remember being kidnapped," Rebecca answered, snatching a magazine out of Macey's recently manicured hands, chipping off the new coat of nail polish that had recently set.

"If you must know," Macey huffed, "—it wasn't about fashion or anything of the sort." She smiled deviously, a smirk setting onto her ruby red lips. "We have a plan, Cammie, and you're going to be the bait." In response, Cammie leans her forehead onto her sweating palm, as if she was already aware —and mortally terrified— of what was going to happen. Over the next thirteen minutes, the three girls educated her upon a mission plan, complete with a makeover (because it was for the fun of it, and how many times do you get to dress up in the palace while you're plotting), and more. And, with those thirteen minutes she almost forgot about what had happened in the past few days: _almost._

::

She wanted to scream, hide, and cry.

All these innate urges cried out, yet there was nothing that Cammie could do except what she had came here to do. Climbing stealthily across the floor, she soon came across a field of lasers, a complicated array of red and white mixing together; as if someone was watching (which they very well might have been the entire time), a small ant crawled across the floor, reduced to ashes by the time it had reached the other side. She held onto the strap of the canvas messenger bag, inhaling the smell of rust and iron, easily concealed by parfum, originating from the corner room, adjacent to the elevator on one side, and on the other, a flight of stairs. "What am I supposed to do know?" She questioned, speaking a little too loudly into the mouthpiece that Macey had helped her conceal into a gold charm bracelet, dangling loosely.

"Argh, one minute," a voice on the other line muttered, sounds of keyboards clicking loud in her ear. The lasers started flashing, until they disappeared; Cammie didn't think twice about crossing over. Upon the moment that she crossed over, alarms started blaring and disappeared as quickly as they had come; she looked around, realizing that there was no place to go, no place to hide. A figure appeared in the darkness, and Cammie gulped. _This was it._

* * *

I won't lie,  
Reviews (for a preview) would motivate me to write faster, :)

Don't forget to follow this story for sporadic updates!

**********clara**

**********p.s.** Here's an overview summary since it's been so long since I last updated: Cammie was brought to the Palace after being one of the thirty-five lucky individuals that had been chosen in the Selection, a competition to become the queen and be the wife of Prince Zachary Goode. She becomes closer friends with Zach, and makes friends with Liz, Macey, and Rebecca, who are all also in the competition; her biggest competitor is Tina, a girl who has set her heart and eyes on wooing and winning the heart of Zachary. Girls start being kicked out of the competition; Zach tries to make his move on Cammie, but she sprays water on his face. Zach goes to Macey, one of Cammie's closest friends in the Palace, for help on how to win her over. Meanwhile, Josh, Cammie's love from home (a secret one) gets a job as a soldier/guard in the Palace, and sneaks out and takes her to a party, where he ditches her. They exchange "I love you's" after he apologizes for his actions, but Cammie doesn't feel like she's in love with Josh anymore. Meanwhile, Zachary and his mother, the Queen (Catherine Goode) kidnap her and plan to kill her. Josh rescues her; she wakes up in her bedroom, where she doesn't have much recollection of the past three days. Liz, Macey, and Bex surround her and plot to sneak into the Palace's headquarters to learn more information on what had happened; was it just a dream? However, on her way to the headquarters in the midst of the night, she is caught.


End file.
